MoonLight

Moonlight strangeness

I'm strange and stranger than none...I feel uninvited in the world in which I tread, yet all are invited to seek my strangeness,

when ever this moonlight is absent I cannot inspire even the night becomes too silent and creation is in the same low spirit,

But when it’s full or not being obscured this light is the gift that compliments such a vast array of phenomenal physics that I could not embrace,

Sometimes it is only half full and my anticipation grows and grows, like that of a mighty river raging for her to fully mature,

The flower beds rejoice at her sight as they have early blossoming from her blessed mist, and in the morning feel refreshed and invigorated,

The prairies, mountain tops, hills, valleys, the oceans, the young calf, the prancing colt, the wing creatures, that nest happily in their resting place,

The gentle fresh air, that makes the open night such pleasant a moonlight, She is the light that shines and shines causing so much commotion, yet innocent partaker in all her actions.

Moonlight the kaleidoscope of extraordinary events, keeps her radiant and focus,

The ever burning spotlight that pierce my soul, nothing like her in splendor, nothing like her in absence.

When I step into the night from my cradle there is this bright light a celestial body that never seems to leave me, It follows everywhere I tread illuminating my pathway, and when it’s full it resembles a lamp someone set up with purpose,

The creatures of the night howl, cry, and sing...their interpretations are all unique, this goes on throughout this nocturnal cycle of intrigue and charm just to repeat once again,

The flying visitors die trying to reach her magnificent splendor, and that is the beauty of it all, the Grand builder had it all well within reach for us to write and respect, fall to our knees and praise….and praise.

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By: Raphael G

Dream Weaver

 

Dream weaver

Like a voyage of long ago,

A time long awaited, where the inspiration rejuvenates an inspirator of dreams,

there aren't rehearsed dreams better than agitated currents,

nothing prepares an inspirator for events so impacting like these...only that emotions and innate feelings incorporate to weave complex feelings that exhaust the soul already in surrender.

Again I find myself embracing for the shock of my life...like it was yesterday.

I reason like a innocent young lad in my search for truth, harmony, feelings, principles, and virtues...Oh Lord save me' help me' give strength...understanding in this world of dreams that never seem to seize pouring my way...I'm not dignified of the leveled thinking.

If poetry is letters of second hand, why do I find myself hindered in what is revealed before me? If poetry is letters of second hand' why do I summons a supreme being? Like this was a debate between me and the creator! My reinforcement is to continue revealing the fundamental things of the heart and pursue the current correctness in guiding the senses.

Never doubt what I write...from the most profound things of the heart inspired reasoning ushers forth what the dream weaver feels in his inspired search.

There can be no falsehood in revealing...more likely it is the initial stage to convocate dialogue, where there is invocation souls come together like poetry and the letters to promote communication in the field of thinking. Poetry and its power for sure have gained its rewarding crown for time to come.

She weaves my broken dreams,

she's soft like the morning mist,

she has these beautiful blues...one is the vast oceans...the other a bright sky in a touching spring break,

she's a master work of whom the thinkers of modern and ancient times debate if she is true or not,

she's an electrifying maiden, no need for dynamic energy to assemble my thoughts,

She would be a great lament if lost and the Divine beings would lament her for an eternity.

What would become of me if she was bones of my bones and fresh of my fresh? I care for her like the hen care for their kind.

I would be enchanted with her like a toddler and toy of interest,

she would be my toy in my eternal toddling.

What can a poor gentile man do for a maiden such touching? If life is all I possess ...than my sacrifice is not in vain!

She's hope for a fallen people and they anticipate in her revealing treasures, O' grandiose king of eternity woe' to me if this was letter of second hand, you are my guide...My fort and my call...you my Judge' that the reality is the sacred expression.

O' my Lord equip me for the outstanding of this dream, you well know my tragedy...I'm innocent in this dream that I can't construct, prepare my path according to the events of worth and surprises in which I must embrace, I ask no more...otherwise that the sacred expression returns fortified in a world of abnegation and absences.

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By: Raphael G

 06/15-23/07

Amish Shack

                                        The Amish Shack

They the raving blues that never seem too tire out always on a move like Nomadic caravans from the slightest sound or encompassing position, like a satellite hovering and dancing from above it intrigues and fascinate the observer. The piercing blues that cause so much commotion and excitement in my soul, sending it into bliss of mind bending thoughts. Like a foundries heat that consumes my inquisitive yearnings that contest debate, promoting sanity in an ever winding circular motion of complex undertaking.

Like a dungeon they imprison me as they go about its taxing ways, innocently partaker of the observer; oblivion host. In a world of sadness blue is not so blue after all, the oceans, the vaulted sky, the covenant arc, blue is eternal as promise from above. Two blue pearls in its sockets that reveal enigmas and provide a multitude of reasoning.

Enlighten me, charm me, lead my soul captive in want. I make oath with almighty Yahweh, to never remove me from your sight, keeping me writing and sleepless day and night. Drain my energy, my life’s resources! I feel the sense and meaning of true giving around you. Let heavens be weighted down on our behalf and its host rejoice one more time. If it’s a sin to let go from the abundance of the heart, than I boast as one of them all. I chase the heart as a child would after the passing of a butterfly, as it explores the new world of curiosities laughing and smiling with-out contempt lighting up the biggest fires racing out of control in a givers want.

The poet in quest to decipher meaning and revelations, the ultimate opportunity to engage in a ritual so ancient and yet all embracing. Like an outcast in all his approach, like mission all too impossible… he makes good medicine of what is placed before him. A road tread once too often he walks away with his head bow ever vigilant of what’s next in his quest to reveal.

The enigmatic blues and beautiful of them all, the one subject unique of them all. The shack I frequent to quell my thirst and hunger, the honoree of my life esteems tossed oblivion host. The inspirations never seem to vanish yet I have matured riddled; only if I could remain youthful forever to chase the uncatchable, to race against the wind one more time, to exhaust not like a wolverine relentless in his search, his pursuit. Oh almighty God be the blue eyes in the world in which I seek encouragement, and we shall write many good words together.

I write for you Oh mighty one at all times, when I contemplate beauty of all sort not far away I’m writing about your infinite designs, the everlasting perfect bond of love… imprinted in us humans. She is beautiful like Eden’ indeed and many jubilating souls praise her for the woman she has become. A thousand spring seasons may linger in paradise, but as for me you will be my favorite under God Almighty's watchful eyes; as I serene you and him with expressions of endearment.

I have made you my daily prayer and in these last days I’m not sure about my call, but certainly I have faith that in paradise God almighty; will afford me an link pen where my thoughts race once again after you. Just too unsettled my soul their twins, who is worthy? Of this inspiration only those beautiful blues can tell. Admirable and skilled parents worthy of tribute and off-springs that shower like a cascading powerful crag of waterfalls keep pushing my threshold… I seek an audience with you once again because my spirit is always at lost.

10/2010/01/2011 By: Raphael G

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